


Letters From The King

by Coulsonite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: bromance galore, lots of feels, spoilers for the supernatural season 12 finale, this is my first work dont judge me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 22:59:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11323497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coulsonite/pseuds/Coulsonite
Summary: Sam finds Crowley's last will and testament/apology. After that finale I still haven't found any closure so this my attempt. Lots of feels and bromance.





	Letters From The King

  Sam and Dean got back to the bunker in the middle of the night. They were exhausted after the latest hunt, a poltergeist and a couple of routine salt n’ burns in Texas. The brothers had been hunting almost non-stop in the few weeks since Cas died, just trying to stay busy. It wasn’t working too well, however. Dean hardly spoke anymore, and Sam refused to let him drive Baby due to his constant drinking. Sam, of course, was suffering too, Cas had been his friend as well. But Sam knew it was different for his brother. Dean and Cas had had, as the angel once called it, “a more profound bond”.

  Sam unlocked the door to the bunker and stepped in, with Dean staggering in close behind him. They clumped down the steps, both ready for a much-needed shower and a little shut-eye before the next case. When he reached the bottom step something on the table caught Sam’s eye. It was a black envelope with a red seal, imprinted with an old Gaelic symbol. Dean didn’t notice and wandered off to his room while Sam picked up the envelope and examined it. It gave off a very faint but distinct odor of sulfur and whiskey, which could only mean one thing: Crowley.

   “There’s no way…” Sam muttered to himself as he ripped open the flap. Inside were three pages and what looked like a dog whistle made of bone. Each of the letters was addressed to a member of Team Free Will. The first one was for Sam. He poured himself a glass of cheap whiskey and sat down at the table to read it.

    _Dear Moose,_ the letter read in scrolly writing. _If you’re reading this, I am, most unfortunately and absolutely, dead. Likely because of you and your bullheaded brother, but that’s neither here nor there. This is your favorite King of Hell, Crowley, if you hadn’t guessed already. This isn’t like me, I know. I’m not exactly the most soulful, thoughtful man out there, but for a demon this isn’t too shabby, eh? Anyway, since I have no heir, no family, and no friends besides you lot, this is my official will._

  Sam put his drink on the table and leaned forward. "This ought to be interesting" he mumbled, and read on. 

  _Sam, in my palace there are three hellhounds. You remember Juliet, right? She’s there, along with my two other favorites, Growley and Romeo. They’re yours to keep as pets, (Growley’s a cuddler) or as an extremely effective security system. They’re good for hunting too, I’ve heard. I’ve enclosed a dog whistle of a sort that will summon them when needed. You could just kill them, and that would probably be your first primitive instinct, but that would be a waste. They’ll obey you completely, I’ll make sure of that. And don’t worry, you don’t have to hit them with a car to establish your ownership as you’ve been known to do. (;_

_I know you and I have never been particularly close. Hell, we’ve done our very best to off each other more than once. You’ve been a giant pain in my rear end since we met, but you’re a good_ _man, Moose. A great one, even. Don’t forget that. You know, I don’t think your blood ever completely left my system. I’ve gotten soft since that night in the church. I haven’t forgotten what I said, either, all that mushy garbage about wanting love. Since then I’ve thought about it a lot, and love isn't what I truly need. I hope that however I go, whether at your hands, or Squirrels’s, maybe somehow, you’ll find a way to forgive me for all I’ve done to you. That’s all I ever wanted, to be forgiven. I definitely don’t deserve it, Chuck knows that. But if you ever do, I think I’ll be able to ‘rest in peace’ wherever my kind goes after death. Eugh, even writing something that sad and mopey makes me want to vomit, but since I’m dead now, I suppose it doesn’t matter._

_Enjoy the hellhounds and life without me in it._

_Bye, Moose. -C._

  Sam set the letter down and leaned back in his chair. He hadn't really thought about Crowley after Cas died, but now he realized he would actually miss the pompous son of a bitch. Crowley had helped the boys a lot, even saving their lives a couple times. Sam grabbed his drink and downed it in one swig. "Crowley, you were an asshole and a son of a bitch, but I forgive you" Sam announced to an empty room. "Rest in whatever peace you can find, Fergus." And with that Sam poured himself another drink and waited for Dean.

**Author's Note:**

> This was super short, I know, but I just wanted to try my hand at writing. This is my very first work on here, so leave some helpful comments, I appreciate them! If all goes well I'll write more installments of this story.


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